Picture Bride
by Mir
Summary: At the turn of the 20th century, women migrated from Japan to America to marry men they'd only met through pictures. They traveled alone across the wide Pacific to a strange country and an uncertain future -- AU K&K [ch.3]
1. Part 1

title: Picture Bride | Part 1  
rating: pg-13  
author: Mir  
email:mir@despammed.com  
website: 

disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki   
Nobuhiro, published by Shueisha in "Jump," and   
produced by Sony Entertainment. All rights are theirs.

AN:  Generally, I'm not a huge fan of writing AU pieces, but this idea lodged itself into my brain while I was doing my history reading and refused to let go.  Also, I don't normally switch POV's in the middle of chapters.  Right.  Think of the first person as diary entries and the third person as narration.  I think it works alright, but if it reads really awkwardly, just let me know, and I'll make sure to stick with either one or the other in subsequent chapters.  Oh, and I'm not certain of some of the historical details/time-period atmosphere, but I'll try my best and hit the books one of these days to do some quality research ^_~.

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*part 1*

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_My name is Kamiya Kaoru, and I was born in __Tokyo__ in 1886, the year of the dog.  It was a time of change in __Japan__, an era of rapid modernization unparalleled in our nation's history.  In the few brief decades since the Meiji Restoration, railroads had cut boldly across the country, and steam-powered ships sailed in and out of our harbors carrying goods, people, and information across the Pacific.  Men in western business suits rode up and down the streets, and in the schools, the government added English to the curriculum and told us we were the generation that would bring __Japan__ proudly into the modern world.  We were a Pacific power that would surpass __Britain__, __China__, and even the __United States__ in the bright new century of hope and opportunity.  We would peruse _'fukoku-kyohei' _and become strong and prosperous in order to defend ourselves against the expansionist Western powers.  _

_And yet, taxes rose steadily, and every year it seemed as though we had to get by on less and less.  When I was ten, my mother, forced to work long hours at a tea processing factory in order to make ends meet, fell ill and passed away like a flower sinking slowly into water.  Afterwards, it was just my father, grandfather, younger brother, and I living together above the shop with three small rooms and an ever-shrinking income.  Still we stuck together, and for four years we managed to get by on hard work, the generosity of friends, and a little luck.  Then, when I was 14, everything changed:_

- - - - - - - - - -

"Is Father back yet?"  She stood in the kitchen, arms buried up to the elbows in wet rice and damp strands of dark hair falling stubbornly into her eyes.  Although she couldn't see her brother through the thin paper wall, she could easily guess his expression by the loud pounding of his footsteps on the stairs and his heavy hand against the shoji.  He'd never been the subtle, gentle type, not even as a child.

"No, he's still down at the office."  Yoshiro sighed loudly, his deep voice laden with both irritation and resignation.  "I'll cook lunch, okay?  Go down and help Grandpa with the shop…"  

Kaoru, pouncing eagerly on any excuse to turn the kitchen over to someone else (even her brother whose culinary skills were, _let's just say_, not the most stellar in Tokyo), hurriedly rubbed her hands dry and was running down the hall past her brother before he had time to blink.  "Thanks Nii-san… any idea when he'll be back?"  She called, craning her neck around towards him as she skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs.

"He said to go ahead and eat without him," was the lackluster reply.  It was the third day running that their Father had left early in the morning to visit the little government office down in the center of town, and it would be the third day that he wouldn't return until the sun was sinking low in the dark sky awash with blurred splashes of orange and purple.  

There had been no discussion, no family consultation, no general forum for the planning the future.  "I'm going to America," he'd announced one evening, eyes trained religiously on the small bowl of warm rice cupped in his hands.  Calmly, as though he were merely commenting on the weather, he slid his chopsticks into the white mound.  "Your father's going to be a _dekaseginin_ (1)."  It was said flatly without pride, without emotion, and he slowly chewed, chewed and swallowed.

And they, too, had stared downward, unable to meet his eyes, unwilling to believe what he'd told them, unwilling to accept the glaring reality of their family's debt.  But in the end, they all knew that there was no other way.  The failing shop was all they had; their family had long been separated from their ancestral lands.  

"When will you leave?"  Kaoru had been the first to speak, to break the pregnant silence, her voice soft and steady, betraying none of the emotion that fluttered tensely in her stomach.  She clutched her fingers into tight fists under the table, ignoring the sting of fingernails digging into palms.

"With the next ship if I am able."  And somehow, as if released by his words, the tableau unfroze, and suddenly questions came flowing forth like water rushing unhindered from a broken damn.  

_How long would he be away?  Where would he be going?  Would anyone else they knew be accompanying him?  How much did Americans pay?  What was he allowed to bring with him?  Would he be able to write?  _

But there were no answers to the real question buried deep within everyone's heart:  _Would he be coming back?_

- - - - - - - - - -

_Father and Takani Isao, a close family friend, boarded the ship together side by side, the former staring vacantly out across the water, the latter smiling broadly back at us, his white teeth gleaming brightly underneath the high, beaming sun.  I stood on the dock close beside Yoshiro, hands gripping the wooden railing until my knuckles turned white and my fingers ached, but I refused to take my eyes off of the two disappearing black specks drifting far away to a land I'd never seen and never dreamed I would. _

_And when at last the ship blurred into a dark smudge moving insensitively toward the far horizon, I shivered despite the sun's warmth, unsuccessfully fighting the tears that ran in two thin lines down my cheeks.  I bowed my head, embarrassed, turning away from Yoshiro when he awkwardly moved to comfort me.  Oh Nii-san, what would become of us?_

_He tugged restlessly at his gi, fingers revealing his nervousness even as his proud expression refused.  In the past year he had grown taller than me by almost ten centimeters, and I stood silently in his shadow, lost and alone._

- - - - - - - - - -

"Any news from Father this week?"  She sat by the window, the slanting late afternoon sunlight falling across the mending crumpled in her lap.  In the kitchen, two rows of misshapen riceballs were lined up like soldiers beside the sink, and clean white laundry fluttered gently from lines sagging across the balcony.

"He just wrote last month."  Yoshiro paused in the doorway, thin lips pressed together as he dispassionately surveyed the scene before him.  He'd grown even more in the past two years, and his hair, cropped short, Western-style, accented the sharp angle of his jaw and the steep slant of his nose.  "You're so impatient."

And as she continued to stare straight ahead, she suppressed a sigh and rubbed her tongue in irritation against the roof of her mouth.  The sudden rift in the family had driven them apart like a wedge forced into a beam of wood, and she wondered how long it would be before Yoshiro, too, would get it into his head to run off and try his luck abroad.  "I just care about Father," she replied softly, emphasizing each word with a slight pause. 'And I worry when he doesn't write,' she added silently in her mind. 'I worry that he won't return.'

"I'm going out for dinner.  Keep out of trouble."  And so he left, leaving the house empty and silent – the rippling of his footsteps lingering invisibly in the air.  

She let the white fabric slide onto the floor, hands limply folded in her lap.  'Why does it have to be like this?  Why can't we just be a family again?'  And with the intent of making herself a cup of tea, she left the mending behind her and stepped into the hallway.  There, halfway between herself and the stairs, like a lone snowflake illuminated against the sky, lay a thin envelope, roughly-handled and smeared with grease.  Characters half-blurred by sweaty fingers flowed down the side, but there was no mistaking the writing.  

- - - - - - - - - -

_Dear Children,_

_In San Francisco, Isao's shop is finally beginning to make money.  It is right beside the Chinese laundry, and many mine laborers stop in to buy groceries when they pick up their shirts.  Kaoru-chan, I hope you haven't been working too hard and are sill as sweet and beautiful as I remember.  Enclosed is a photograph of a bright young man I have met here in America.  His family, like ours, is from Tokyo, and he is working as Takani's assistant as he studies to become a minister.  His name is Yukishiro Enishi, and he has been saving money for the past two years, and has purchased a ticket for passage to America.  I have given my consent for your marriage._

_From,_

_Your loving Father_

_I could understand why my brother wanted to keep the news from me, why he was so angry at being left behind, but I felt betrayed, by both he and our father.  It was ironic that I, who wanted nothing more than to stay, would be forced to go whereas Yoshiro, who would have given anything to leave, was forced to remain.  But life itself seems at times to be intrinsically ironic, and neither of us had any choice in the matter.  Whether I liked it or not, there was no choice but to travel to America at my father's bidding as any honorable daughter would for her family._

_Later, I knelt on the floor of my room packing my few possessions into a small, battered wooden trunk we had bought on sale at the used goods store down the street.  Each item, so full of memories, smelled like the house, both fresh and poignant beneath my nose.  And an hour later when at last I silently lowered the lid and rubbed my fingers back and forth across the rough surface, my throat constricted at the thought of all the memories that I would leave behind.  There was the narrow, dusty street where I had lost my first tooth while chasing after Yoshiro.  And there was the uneven patch at the far end of the porch where I had dropped the lantern and singed the polished wood.  Father had made me replace the ruined boards myself… and I had never been so careless afterwards.  These and more – they would be forever behind me._

- - - - - - - - - -

And then, almost before she realized it, the fateful day had arrived, and she was once more at the waterfront, cool winds whistling in her ears and tugging impatiently at her hair.  Her stomach fluttered as she clutched the flimsy paper ticket harder, it was both hope and fear that etched themselves plainly across her features.  Despite everything, there was no denying the assertion that America was the land of opportunity, the land of gold and riches, the New World where dreams could come true.  

"You'll arrive in Angel Island just off of San Francisco California," Yoshiro muttered, dropping the small trunk on the ground beside his sister.  "Tou-san and Takani-san will be waiting for you."  He had been rambling non-stop since they left the shop, and his cheeks were flushed red from both the heavy afternoon heat and pure nervous energy.  "There's nothing to worry about, and one day you'll come back…"  His voice trailed off suddenly as he stumbled awkwardly upon the one topic they had carefully avoided ever since Kaoru had wordlessly handed him back the letter.

Standing like a statue on the dock, she stared down at the wooden slats beneath her zori, unable to meet his eyes, unable to say a word because she knew – she knew that anything she could have said would have been a lie.  For every person who returned, a hundred others lived and died without ever seeing the gracefully sloping curves of Fuji-san again.  For every soul that traversed the wide Pacific, only a handful sailed once again to the land of the rising sun.  For every picture sent eastward with the name of its owner penned in graceful characters on the back, only those of round-faced, bouncing grandchildren found their way back in envelopes bearing American postage.

She reached over and took his hand in hers, squeezing the warm, sweaty fingers as tightly as she clenched her teeth together, blinking into the sun to keep the tears from falling.  And as the ocean breeze floated across the dock wrapped itself around her shoulders, she swallowed hard and somehow found her voice again.  "Take care of Grandpa."  The whispered utterance hung between them, and in the fragile silence, she leaned forward until her head rested lightly against his shoulder, eyelashes catching on the fabric of his gi.  

And then, before the realization sank in, before she could balk and deny her father the honor he deserved of having his daughter by his side, before she could turn her back on her destined future, she was staring haplessly at the disappearing Japanese coastline, not daring to breathe as her brother dissolved into a grey smudge of memory.

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*end part 1*

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(1) 'Dekaseginin'_ – laborers working temporarily in a foreign country.  They migrated from Japan with the hope of earning money to pay their debts, to move into a higher social class, to strike it rich and return to Japan as _'kin'I kikyo'_ – wealthy persons.  It began in 1868 when the Hawaiian consul general in __Japan__ secretly recruited 148 Japanese contract laborers and ended almost 230 years of isolation and a forced ban on emigration.   By 1894, some 30,000 Japanese had gone to the __Hawaiian islands__ as government-sponsored contract laborers, and between 1885 and 1924, 380,000 Japanese emigrated to __Hawaii__ and the __U.S.__ mainland._

This seems just a little fragmented, doesn't it?  Oh well, I didn't mean it to be that way… it's been fun to write, though, because I can just sit down and type out a paragraph or two and then go back to the reading that I'm supposed to be doing for class.  Ack!  Let me know what you think [e.g. whether the idea is worth pursuing further].  I'm working on chapter two at this very moment.

                        - Mir  (05.31.03)

` 


	2. Part 2

title: Picture Bride | Part 2

rating: pg-13

author: Mir

email: mir@despammed.com

website: 

disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki 

Nobuhiro, published by Shueisha in "Jump," and 

produced by Sony Entertainment. All rights are theirs.

AN:  Ah, so here I am, back again with a second part.  I actually went to the library the other day and pulled a couple books on the Japanese migration to California at the turn of the century.  There's a lot of good information out there, and it quite interesting in fact.  Now all I need to do is to settle down on a good plot and _write_!  I'm trying to weave the RK characters in and keep them as IC as possible… Oh, and in case you have any fears, the main pairing in this piece will be K&K.  As much as I know some people like the alt. E&K pairing, it just feels really awkward in my mind, and I wouldn't even begin to know where to begin if I tried to write it.  So, onward…

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*part 2*

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When the ship finally sailed into San Francisco Bay, the air was heavy with early morning fog, and the gray clouds above seemed to press down upon the deck, muffling movement and silencing conversation.  Kaoru stood in line beside the other women she had met during the long voyage, but their time together was already blurring in her mind, and each face was just a smear of black and white against the foreign seacoast.  She'd put on her best kimono, slipped her feet into the clean pair of tabi she'd saved for especially this day, and brushed her hair until it fell through her fingers like black water.  But when they began herding the third class passengers off to the fenced enclosure like cattle, she understood that all her efforts would be pointless.  Willing away the tears of frustration and humiliation that threatened, she stolidly put one foot before the other, knowing that each step would bring her that much closer to her father and whatever else that awaited her.  There was, of course, no turning back now.

And at last, two days later, when the men with cool, clammy hands and pale, stony faces were certain she wasn't host to disease or parasites, when she was finally free to leave and enter the New World, the golden land of opportunity, she stood by herself alone on the dock, enveloped by fog, nervously waiting.  Noises resounded from every direction – people talking, dogs barking, carriages creaking past along roads half-pavement, half-mud.  Then with a start, she turned sharply at the sputtering motor behind her and jumped as a dockworker slammed an armful of grimy crates on the dock beside her.  

"Sorry Miss, gotta watch where you're standing," he murmured with look in his eyes that made her shiver though she hadn't understood a single word he said.  "You sure are a pretty one aren't you?  Fresh off the boat I imagine… wearing that… thing and all."   He squared off in front of her, and she noticed the sweat and oil smeared careless across his cheek and the large, rough fingers he thrust casually through his oversized belt loops.  His mouth curled into an odd sort of half-smile, and her heart began to pound heavily in her chest as she fought the impulse to run.  '_I'm supposed to wait here for Father.  There's nowhere else I can go… Please Tou-san, come quickly!'_

He strode closer, eyes narrowing and lips parting.  "You're all alone here, aren't you, right?  And you don't have a clue what I'm saying, do you?"  Kaoru quickly averted her eyes, determined to ignore him. '_If only I had my bokken and weren't wearing a kimono.  I'd show the big brute what happens when he looks at women like that.'_  There are, of course, certain desires in life that need no words to convey.  She stared at the ground as he reached out roughly to grab her arm, and she clenched her teeth in preparation for his sour breath against her face – but it never came, and when she dared to look up again, it was violet eyes that met hers, not brown.

"You shouldn't let them do that," the newcomer advised softly in Japanese as he wiped his hands down the legs of his pants, as if to remove the lingering remnants of the dockworker sent swiftly on his way.  "They'll take advantage of you at the drop of a hat."

"And how do I know you won't do the same?"  She had been caught by surprise by the man's (albeit slightly accented) Japanese, as his bright red hair screamed '_gaijin'_ as clear as daylight, but she wasn't about to trust him unconditionally just because he'd rescued her from one potentially dangerous situation.  One had to keep in mind that there was no reason for his motives to be purely altruistic. '_Wouldn't that be just my luck – delivered from one barbarian into the hands of another_.'

He merely shrugged in response, rocking back on his heels as his shoulders rose and fell beneath his shirt.  It was an odd color, probably brick red at some point in history but faded into a sickly magenta underneath the unforgiving sun and rain.  And even Kaoru, certainly not the most trendy of young ladies, mentally cringed at the glaring fashion _faux pas_. '_No one trying to pick up girls would wear something that hideous.'_  

But before Kaoru had time to contemplate the realization, before she could make up her mind whether to thank her rescuer or ask if he was colorblind, she caught sight of a familiar face striding towards her down the dock, and her eyes lit up at Takani Isao's bouncing mop of black hair.  She met his eyes and smiled, relieved to see him but wondering why her father hadn't come himself. '_Silly, he'll be busy working long hours no doubt.  He'll be earning money and can't take the time off, that's all.'_

"Kaoru-san, it's good to see you.  Welcome to America… I'm glad you were able to make it through customs in one piece.  You'd think we were savages without official visas the way they treat us sometimes…."  The spidery wrinkles around his eyes had deepened since she'd last seen him, but they still crinkled in that warm, gentle way when he smiled.  If she failed to notice the dark smudges of fatigue beneath his eyes or the slight shaking of his hands before he shoved them self-consciously into his pockets, it was because she had other things on her mind.

"It's wonderful to see you again as well…"  She forced herself to smile in response, forced the corners of her mouth to rise as she tried to sound honestly pleased with the reunion – not that she wasn't, but it was just that… "…and a relief to be on solid ground again."  At least the second assertion was entirely true – she'd taken no pleasure in some of the other women's moaning and complaining about the quality of the food and their inability to keep it down.  Why did they feel compelled to force their weak constitution on the rest of the ship?  "Is Father…"

The hesitation as Takani wordlessly opened his mouth set off warning bells in her mind, and when his gaze slid from hers to some far-off sight behind her, she couldn't stop herself from falling across the distance between them to tug intently at his sleeves.  "Please say that he's okay.  Tell me that he's anxious to see me and that he misses Yoshiro and Grandpa too.  He's been too busy working lately to write, hasn't he?  He's always been so dedicated to whatever he does…"

But the other's arms slipped around Kaoru's waist, pulling her gently against his chest, and as he leaned down until his mouth was beside her ear, the myriad of sounds resounding from the dock were drowned out by the frantic racing of her heart.  "I'm sorry and ashamed Kaoru-san… that I cannot say otherwise.  You Father—"  Even in public he couldn't help the constricting of his throat and the single tear that slid down the side of his nose and into the black hair beneath his chin. "—sickness swept through our section of the city three weeks ago.  We lost so many…"

Swallowing hard, he pressed an envelope into Kaoru's hands, and she stared mutely at the pristine white paper that contrasted so sharply with all the dirt and grime around her.  Flowing down the right side was her name penned gracefully in a hand she didn't recognize.  She traced each stroke over and over with her eyes, enveloping herself within the familiarity and denying vehemently that what she'd heard was true.  It couldn't be – not after she'd come all this way, and…

"He dictated it to my niece when he knew…"  Takani muttered awkwardly into the pregnant silence.  "…her name's Megumi, and she's determined to be a doctor some day… 'though everyone tells her that it's impossible.  You'd like her, I know…"

And Kaoru knew, although she didn't say a word, that she wouldn't.  How could she forgive someone who had been able to be by her father's side in the hour that he had needed her the most?  How could she look at this woman without thinking of Tou-san sick and dying in a foreign country thousands of miles from his family and his homeland?  How could she ever… _'But that's silly.  After all, it's not _her_ fault, and I suppose I should be thankful that someone was there_.'  And yet, there are things that only the hand of time can ease.

"Thank you."  It was an automatic response that came from some part of her that wasn't reeling in shock, some part of her that was still functioning at an instinctive level.  But if her response lacked the depth of sincerity, he didn't seem to notice or mind.

"Come then.  I'll take you back to my place, and we'll get you cleaned up…"  The casualness in his tone was forced, but Kaoru had no desire to stand exposed on the street, and she mutely followed him as he led her by the hand through the crowds away from the water.  She could feel the eyes that followed her as she walked, and it then that she finally realized how far she'd actually come and how truly different the world was around her.  

"We'll get you some Western clothes.  I'm sure there's something around that'll fit you…"   Her once spotless tabi were already coated in dust and dirt kicked up from the road.  But it wasn't as if she could even pretend to care anymore.  

- - - - - - - - - -

"There now, doesn't that just make a world of difference?  It takes so long to heat up enough water for a bath, but I swear it's worth every minute and every cent."  Tae, young, short-haired, and good-natured, stood on the far side of screen sectioning off part of the small space that served both as washroom and kitchen.  She'd received Kaoru with open arms and a knowing nod.  '_When I first arrived, it was absolute torture – all the wrong clothes, no idea what anyone was saying, no idea whether my husband would be a decent guy or not_.'  She talked constantly as Kaoru soaked up to her chin in the large wooden tub , and when she closed her eyes, Kaoru could almost imagine that she was still back safe at home relaxing one warm afternoon. 

"Kaoru, I know Enishi…"  The comment caught her by surprise, and as she didn't want to think about any of that at the moment, she found herself listening with morbid curiosity.  "…He's very…"  Tae waved her hands in the air before her, floundering for the right words.  "… very dedicated, a little intense.  He's tall –right up there with Americans – and his hair's the most striking feature.  It's so white, almost like snow in fact."  She had been pacing slowly back and forth across the creaking floor, but she stopped directly in front of the screen, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.  "Everyone has a story, you know.  There's no one who goes through life without creating some sort of interesting history, but Enishi's is particularly… different."  

And Kaoru, because it seemed as though she was going to hear all about the man she was supposed to marry whether she liked it or not, settled in for the long haul.

"He came to America with his parents when he was young, no more than five or six.  There were four of them: Father, Mother, Enishi, and his older sister, Tomoe.  His Father had money, enough of it in fact to start his own business here in California, a laundry or something of that sort, I think.  They raised their children to be as properly Japanese as possible in this setting, and the daughter, in fact, grew up to be a perfectly gorgeous young lady – if somewhat quiet and withdrawn.  Enishi absolutely doted on her and would follow her around the city whenever she went out, always sneaking out after her when he though she wouldn't notice.  Her parents engaged her to a young man name Akira, but he was tragically killed in an accident involving the crossfire of a streetfight a month or so before the wedding.  It wasn't too long afterwards that Tomoe, to her family's shame and immense displeasure, chose to elope with a young man born in the states to a Japanese mother and an American father.  He had red hair like fire and odd, haunted eyes that seemed to take everything in and let nothing out in return."  She paused, swallowed, and then admitted with a hint of guilt.  "Of course, this is all just what I've been told…"

"Once Tomoe left, no one heard anything from her for almost a year, and Enishi, never the most jovial of adolescents, became increasingly sullen and ill-tempered until one day he, too, abandoned the house – vowing to find his sister and bring her back to his side, her proper place where she belonged, he insisted… He returned several months later in the dead of winter with her ashes and his hair as white as the fog that wrapped itself around him.  No one's ever been able to find out exactly what happened while he was away… but perhaps he'll tell you certain things he won't share with others."

"But… I thought he was going to be a —" Kaoru replied, thinking out loud as she tried to make sense of the massive influx of information that was trying to force its way into her head.

"—and he is.  He studies more than anyone else I know.  From the first light in the morning to the last light in the evening and sometimes by candlelight after dusk he's working either at the books or earning some money doing the odd job here or there."  Tae stopped, laughing to herself as she realized what she'd been saying.  "But that's probably not what you want to hear, right?  Every girl wants a husband for who she'll be the center of the universe, the light in the morning, and the moon at night — but trust me, in this country you'll be lucky if your husband's home at night for dinner and probably even luckier if he's not."  She shook her head, forgetting that the screen blocked the movement from view.  "I'll be honest, Kaoru.  America changes men… and sometimes not for the better.  They're never the same once they come and live and realize that their dreams will never be realized and that they'll never be able to return to Japan with their pride intact."

She turned away and began drying dishes, as though keeping her hands busy would help distance her from the words that still flowed from her mouth.  "They come with their head full of Confucian scholarship and the memory of their country's long history and are told by white men to wash windows and clean toilets.  They learn they've lost as soon as their bosses set eyes upon their Asian faces, and they understand that their dreams and ambitions mean nothing in the glaring face of reality."  

Then, almost as if ashamed of her long-winded tirade about America, she smiled, and with a lighter tone continued.  "That's where Enishi's different.  He wants to break the cycle where the white man always wins.  He's got a mission, Kaoru… Are you okay with that?"

And as she sat in the now lukewarm water and stared at her wrinkled fingertips, words flew through her head like wild birds fleeing from the hunter's riffle.  She felt her chest expand and contract with every breath, and when at last she found her voice, it hardly sounded like her own.  "I'll have to try my best.  In any situation, it's the only thing to do."

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*end part 2*

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That's all for now.  Glad that you stuck around for part 2 ^_~.  Part 3 will probably be a little longer in coming since I had this mostly written when I uploaded the first chapter.  Oh, and just as a little teaser, the next chapter will be from Kenshin's POV and will introduce some of the other RK characters that are going to have a part in this story.  I'm not exactly sure what the end result is going to look like, but I've planned it out at least to the halfway mark, and for some reason, it's been surprisingly easy to write!

Many thanks to everyone who's read the story and written your comments.  Kairan Akiyama, irksome one, Haku Baikou, Mae, Calger459, Fuuko-san, Heki-chan, Koneko, April-san....

                        - Mir  (06.03.03)


	3. Part 3

title: Picture Bride | Part 3  
rating: pg-13  
author: Mir  
email: mir@despammed.com  
website:   
  
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki   
Nobuhiro, published by Shueisha in "Jump," and   
produced by Sony Entertainment. All rights are theirs.

AN:  I've planned this chapter as a way to introduce another group of RK characters who haven't yet made an appearance (if you exclude Kenshin's brief cameo in the previous chapter ^_~).  Don't worry… everything's going to come together sometime in the near future.  There's just so much background to build up before I can get to the part of the plot that really moves along.  Hope I'm not boring anyone to death!

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*part 3*  
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"Hey Kenshin, you free tonight?  A bunch of us are gonna find ourselves some entertainment."  The speaker leaned his shoulder casually against the barrack's doorframe—into a groove worn smooth by countless men doing just the same.  His hands were thrust into the deep pockets of his workpants, leaving sunburned elbows jutting out into the air, ready and poised to catch any unsavory passersby unaware.  His pant legs ended abruptly in a rat's nest of unraveling threads just above the tops of heavy, half-laced work boots liberally stained with goodness-knows-what.

The object of his attention turned slightly, and his eyes rested briefly on his friend, then fell back to the wet cloth hanging from his hands.  "I'm doing laundry," he replied as though the fact weren't completely obvious.  "If you give me that ancient rag you call a jacket, I'll give it a good scrub as well."

"This?!"  Sanosuke protested loudly, eyebrows raised in feigned offense.  "Over my dead body, yeah."  It was a standing joke between them that Kenshin had once shrunken a pair of the other's underwear well past the convenient travel size mark.  "All night alone in the dark?  Shit Kenshin, there's no way I'm gonna let you languish by yourself in this hellhole while I'm out on the town, and you're wasting away from boredom.  You're coming out with us tonight, so stop making excuses."

"I'm not making excuses… I'm actually doing something that desperately needs doing…" the redhead muttered under his breath.  He attacked a particularly stubborn grease stain with renewed vigor as if to prove his point.  "…unlike some people I know."

Sanosuke, who had of course heard the remark, decided to let it slide by without comment.  With barely more than the twitch of an eyebrow, he reached up with one hand to run his fingers through his hair and tug at the ever-present trademark ribbon encircling his head.  "Doesn't it kill you to do other peoples' laundry all day and then have to come home and do your own?"  He scratched absently behind his ear, tone half-serious, half-joking.

And Kenshin merely shrugged, bare shoulders slim and white beneath the fading sunlight.  He stood barefoot on the floor, feet hidden beneath nondescript baggy gray pants, like everything else he owned—old, faded, and patched.  "It's certainly better than wearing dirty clothes and starving I think," he replied flatly.

"And, be that as it may—what can you say about your social life?  Still less than non-existent?"  It was another running joke that, between the two, they averaged a normal balance of work and play (with Kenshin doing all the former, of course).  Sanosuke paused, eyes staring ahead, mind engrossed on one particular thought that had surfaced unexpectedly.  "Wait… didn't Nishiki say that he'd seen you with a girl today?"  A smile began at the corners of his mouth then steadily expanded into a full-fledged smirk.  "Right… it was a new girl, wasn't it?  Fresh off the boat, silk kimono and all."

"Sano…" But even as the objection left his lips, he knew the battle had been lost.  He could dodge the question all night if he wished, but his friend would still be hot on his tail in the morning.  Still, he blushed.  "Nandemonai—it's nothing," he insisted in Japanese, the word falling from his lips as smoothly as the English had before.  His head dipped lower over the lukewarm water while he scrubbed harder as if to compensate for his evasive silence.

"C'mon, you have to have gotten her name at least.  Was she pretty?  Is she staying in San Francisco or heading inland?"  Having drifted over from the door to Kenshin's side, Sanosuke peered down at his friend's face, and then when that had no effect, unceremoniously elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"I said it's nothing.  We didn't exchange more than a dozen words.  She's the ward of Takani."  He could have followed the two as they'd left the dock, could have trailed them like a shadow and listened to learn more, but there had been a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him he'd already guessed the truth. 'She's been promised to Yukishiro Enishi, of course.'

"Another missed opportunity – what am I going to do with you?"  And at that, he turned away, back toward the sinking sun, and as he stretched his arms behind his head, the symphony of creaks and cracks was accompanied by a yawn.  "Well, I'm taking you to the Hall tonight, and if you're lucky, you'll have the privilege of seeing me clean out Kawada and that good-for-nothing friend of his."

"The privilege?"  Kenshin retorted with soft-spoken sarcasm.  He dropped the last clean article of clothing into the bucket and stepped past Sanosuke toward the clothes lines outside.  "I suppose I'll come – but only to keep you in line, of course."

----------

They walked side by side through the darkened streets, and as the far-spaced streetlamps threw pale clouds of light across their faces, their footsteps echoed softly against the pocketed concrete.  The air was hot – not the scorching heat of midday that seemed to burn through clothing and flimsy building walls alike – but a lingering aftertaste that clung stubbornly to the night long after the last sunlight had faded.

Neither spoke as they threaded their way through the urban obstacle course of street posts and garbage bins, cars and bicycles, and casually ambling pedestrians.  But as the echoes of the city's motion swirled through their heads, they needed neither words nor glances to convey the subtle sense of ownership that settled silently deep inside.  Home is, of course, the place where one belongs…

The storefront they finally stopped beside was, without a doubt, the least-interesting on the block.  Painted a dull tan and peeling horribly, it decorated only by a small sign penned by an insecure and shaking hand.  A drooping dahlia, almost like an afterthought, lay flaccidly by the door, and the heavy curtains in the window were damp with condensation. 

They didn't bother knocking at the main entrance but instead proceeded directly around the side to the small door half-obscured by cascading Wisteria.  Sanosuke, in the lead, pushed hard against the handle after only a moment's hesitation, then with a grin of anticipation, stepped across the threshold.

Together, they settled into the scene like fish into the sea – Sano through comfortable familiarity, Kenshin through nervous evasiveness.  He trailed after his friend, half his mind following the other's progress, the other half drifting in thought.  "There's a different crowd here tonight, it seems" he muttered, scanning the room more intently at the realization.  "Or perhaps it's just been so long since…"

And Sanosuke frowned in response.  His cheek twitched as he pulled his eyebrows together across his forehead.  "No, you're right… in half."  He would have spat distastefully into a vacant corner had Kenshin not glared accusingly in his direction.  "They're a gang of sorts – or rather, just another group of ruffians with delusions of grandeur – until recently, that is.  Now, there's this new leader who's developed these grand ideas about himself and his followers.  You know how it all goes, of course."  He shrugged, apparently more concerned with the ongoing dice game on the far side of the room than the possible ramifications of the newly-developing power struggles of those around him.

"Right…"  Kenshin replied, pulling his gaze away from the newcomers at last.  If he'd waited another moment he would have seen one, a thin man with long, twisted fingers and a nose like a hawk's beak, turn and tilt his head in his direction while muttering softly to the man by his side.  He would have paused at the bored look plastered across the other's features, tempered only by the dark fire smoldering behind his eyes.  But the moment passed unnoticed, and time, as always, marches on.

"Hey, it's Zanza…" The source of the observation was a particularly seedy-looking man leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out before him.  The red flush in his cheeks was undeniable evidence of the night's revelries, and his brow furrowed as he contemplated the street fighter's appearance as if the very state of the world depended on his analysis.

"Back from whatever shithole he crawled from…"  Another commented with palatable distain.  

"…and with some half-blooded shrimp under his arm."  The group's attention shifted then to Kenshin, who rocked uneasily from foot to foot as their eyes bore into him like needles.  And yet he said nothing.

"Might get blown over if he stood out on the dock —"

"Or mistaken for a girl if he went into town —"

And, having heard more than enough taunts and insults to meet his nightly quota, Sanosuke growled, his hands clutched threateningly into fists at his sides.  "Yeah, yeah enough already.  You gonna make room for us here or are you too scared that I'll clean you out like I always do?"  He had the advantage of height as he towered over the seated gamblers, and grudgingly they cleared a space against the wall for the newcomers.  Money exchanged hands, and soon it was as if the interruption had never occurred.

The tide of visitors ebbed and flowed as the night wore on.  Some came to gamble, some to drink, others simply to escape the boredom of an empty room and the monotony of day after day of mindless labor.  One man, cropped hair emphasizing his sharply angular features, reached absently into his pocket to retrieve a battered photograph that he squinted at in the dim light.  His eyelids drooped as he rhythmically ran his thumb across the woman's hair in slow, circular motions. Yukiko…  His lips moved soundlessly around his wife's name, and his mind danced backwards over a thousand memories, snapshots left behind across the churning Pacific.

He didn't notice the diminutive shadow that crept steadily besides him, didn't feel the light fingers brush against his clothing, and didn't turn as the retreating footsteps faded away in the opposite direction.

"How many have you gotten tonight?"  Strong arms abruptly encircled the boy and dragged him back behind the dingy screen spread haphazardly across the hallway entrance.  "If it's less that four you lazy, good-for-nothing —"

"Here, take this."  And without looking up he shoved the stolen wallet into the other's face with such force that the man released him in surprise.  "That's all there is.  It's not my fault that the crowd's thin tonight."  He retreated just barely out of grabbing range, chin tucked against his chest and clearly sulking.

"Not your fault, eh?"  The dialogue was familiar, a nightly dance between two actors who had long-since memorized their lines and perfected their parts.  "And I suppose your mother wasting away in the hospital and makin' us foot the bill wasn't your fault either."  He scowled in a gesture that would have been menacing had the boy not seen it countless times before.

"Of course it's not my fault," he insisted half-heartedly as he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared intently at the dirty floor.  "I never would have asked for help from such a rotten bunch of people."

"Why you insolent little —"  The boy tiredly sidestepped the backhand aimed in his direction and slid down the wall until his legs were folded up against his chest.  There was no point to running for there was nowhere to run to, but at the same time, there was no reason to submit to unnecessary blows either.  He tuned out the endless stream of insults and accusations and let his gaze drift back over the crowed – or at least as much of it as he could see through the large hole torn across the screen's second panel.

There on one side with a half-empty beer glass raised to the ceiling was Nakamura, and at his side was that ever-present friend of his Mitsukawa who could drink anyone under the table but never said a word.  Boring, boring.  An old man had passed out in the corner, one boney hand still clutching his dice.  Typical.  In fact, there was only one area that was even marginally interesting…  Who was that with the ribbon trailing down his back?  Oh right, Sagara – a.k.a. Zanza, fighter for hire.   The man leaned forward in concentration over his crossed legs, fingers tapping impatiently on his knees as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at his smaller companion seated beside him.

'That man, I wonder who he is…' The boy had gradually slid farther and farther away from his aggressor until he emerged out from behind the screen again and blended back into the room's deep shadows.  'Seems vaguely familiar… but probably doesn't come here often.'  The man himself was nothing special – besides that red hair that faded into dark maroon in the semi-darkness.  But still, there was something about him, some feeling of strength and unwavering confidence that even his quiet self-evasiveness couldn't fully hide.

"Stop cheating you moron!"  He was caught off-guard as the taller of the pair, Sagara, exploded from his seat toward the man across the circle from him.  He slammed his fist onto the floor scattering dice and drinks alike as his voice cut through the low hum of conversation like a knife through water, and the boy's head wasn't the only one to snap abruptly in his direction.

"What's that again?"  The other man challenged, clearly not intimidated by Sagara's reputation. 'There was a time when no one talked back to Zanza…' The boy thought as he regarded the unfolding scene with interest. 'But I don't think he's even gone by that name for a year at least.'  

It was clear that the outside world was fading for the two as they locked gazes across the space between them and tested the other's mettle with each inhaled breath.  Strength pitted against strength, the all but circled each other, testing for weaknesses and probing for opportunities.  Sagara crouched low to the ground with his legs tucked beneath him, ready to uncoil at a moment's notice.  Everything, from the muscles that tensed beneath loose clothing, to the angles of his chin as he waved his fist before his face, bespoke of uncompromising confidence and a temper that no one, in his right mind, would want to cross.  

The man beside him, the red-haired one with the quiet voice and downcast eyes, laid a hand on the streetfighter's arm, and when the other turned, a look passed between the two — one infused layers of nuanced meaning.  There was almost a collective sigh of relief, a room-wide exhalation as Sagara sunk back to the ground, nodding slightly at the words whispered by his friend.  Yahiko frowned and strained to hear.

"You can't…" Words and phrases were muffled by the rubbing of fabric and the clicking of dice.  "…don't you remember…"  He found himself inching along the wall, drawn by some inexplicable reason toward the two men.  "…started like this before."  And just as it seems as though he'd moved within comfortable hearing range, the conversation abruptly stopped, and he felt the sensation of eyes boring through him as though he were nothing but glass.  Despite the summer heat, he shivered.

'This must be what the presence of a real streetfighter feels like' he thought to himself as he stared deliberately at his shoes. 'Not like all those sleazy scumbags who hang around here.'  But when he finally lifted his head and glanced out from beneath bangs that flopped across his face, the eyes he met were soft and violet — deceptively gently… and almost innocent.  Almost.  Suppressed as if submerged beneath the surface of a lake, lurked darkness, dense and foreboding, edged with anger… and sadness?

But as quickly as the contact was made, it was broken with the swift, almost guilty turn of a head, and Yahiko was left with only a lingering sense of déjà vu.  He might have stood there indefinitely, just contemplating the experience, had the rough shove from a careless drunk not sent him sprawling to the floor.  He landed on his side, barely missing someone's head with his left foot and another's shoulder with his right.  As it was, the impact with the floor was enough to knock his breath away.

"Why you clumsy little…"  He opened his eyes to the red, scowling face of the Boss's lead hit man, and he cringed.  "…ungrateful brat always too full of himself…"  He hadn't realized before how the man's eyes bulged when he yelled or how red his nose became when he drank.  "…I've just been waiting to get my hands on you—" He snatched the boy up by the collar and hoisted him unceremoniously into the air.  And, at that one moment when the mettle of men are tested, the room seemed remarkably quiet, and not a soul moved to his rescue.

"I've had just about enough of you—"  The man reached for his back pocket as the boy squirmed and lashed out with hands and feet. "—what do you say we just…"  The blade was barely four inches long, but its appearance unfroze the tableau like a painting suddenly coming to life.  Men scattered toward the walls for refuge, and Yahiko's heart skipped a beat in his chest.  He opened his mouth to yell but couldn't seem to form the words he shouted in his mind.

Then it happened.  The movement was nothing but a blur, so rapid he might have mistaken it for an illusion if it hadn't just occurred right before his eyes.  But there was no denying it.  The small man, the red-haired one, sprung from the ground like a lightning bolt streaking in reverse toward the sky.  And then the attacker, knife and all, spun wildly around an axis originating at the point where the redhead grasp his wrist.  He struggled for a fleeting moment, the boy entirely forgotten as his limbs searched haphazardly for purchase but found none.  His eyes shone in the lamplight with something deeper, more primitive than the simple pleasure of picking on those who posed no threat to him.  They shone at last with fear.

Even with as little formal training as he'd had, Yahiko could almost feel the strength behind the man's attack, almost see the intangible ripples of confidence radiating outward from his grounded center.  There was, in the very least, no question as to the redhead's competence… And then, with the fluid shift of weight and a sharp rotation of his hips, he revered his opponent's path and threw him to the ground as the loud crack of broken bones echoed throughout the room.  The henchman, winded and astonished, cradled his injured arm to his chest but could not seem to draw his eyes from the man who now stood above him.  

"It's him…" he managed at last to stammer.  His voice increased in volume as he pushed himself backward across the floor and astounded spectators stood mutely by.  "Don't you recognize him?  Don't you know what he did?"  He was almost yelling as he lifted a shaking hand to point in accusation.  "Murderer!"  

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*end part 3*  
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Right.  So it's been way too long since I last updated, but classes have started again, and my professors seem to think it's fun to give me an inhumane amount homework.  So I'm sorry for the extremely long delay.  Hopefully next time....

Again, thanks so much to everyone who's been reading this story: Linay, ixchen, Kawaii Kokkei Tsuita no Neko, Chiki, Gochan, haku baikou, Mystical Angel, Vesca, The Weird One, sunshine, LadyShiin, star0704, ayumi-dono, jeslyn-nighthawk, kleptomaniac sam, MP, RurouniGochan,  CynicalCorpse, Kairan Akiyama, Angel, heki-chan, jeslyn-nighthawk, Gypsy-chan, Sabrina-star, Koneko, Fuuko-san, Oyuki, Jason M. Lee… and anyone I may have missed!  Your kind words motivate me to write

                        - Mir  (09.13.03)


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